


clicking down the cobblestones

by heartsinhay



Series: HSWC 2013 [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinhay/pseuds/heartsinhay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the darkness, Calliope waits, and then she is found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	clicking down the cobblestones

In the end, and for far too long afterwards, there is nothing, emptiness stretching for as far as she can see, no bright visions from Skaia above or smell of fresh meat or clacking of carapace shoes on Prospitian cobblestones.

There is nothing, and then there is a voice.

“Calliope!”

She turns, but all she can see is darkness.

“I’m here!” she calls, “Hello? I’m here!”

She still can’t hear anything, can’t see anything, and she whirls and whirls in hope of catching a footstep, perhaps, or a flash of light, or (she doesn’t dare to hope) the end of a long, trailing, scarf, wool soft and faintly scratchy when caught between her fingers, a lengthy line of knit against purl—

Wait.

Long scarf. Wool. She stops spinning, and stands, waits, her hand stretched out into the void. She wants to shut her eyes so tight that they hurt, and afterimages of phantom light swam across her vision like silver fish. She doesn’t have eyelids, but it’s dark enough that she can pretend that she’s closing her eyes, anyway, and when she flexes her fingers (once, twice), her hand closes down on coarse fabric the third time she grasps at empty air.

She curls her hands into a fist, not caring that her long nails dig holes into the wool, and grasps at the scarf, reeling it in.

“Calliope.”

And there is a body pressing against her, soft like the raw meat she used to chew absently for breakfast when she woke up. There is something bristly scraping her forehead that feels like her wig used to—hair? She smells makeup, waxy and artificially scented, and something sharp and sour that she mentally labels as sweat.

“Roxy?”

“You recognized me.”

“You’re pronouncing it wrong, dear.”

“ _Cal_ liope. Calli _o_ pe. Callio _pe_. I’m here.”

She feels two appendages wrapping around her, and they feel more familiar in texture this time, as if, underneath the soft padding, Roxy’s arms are as brittle as hers. She used to hug herself, back when she was alive, wrap her arms around herself and pretend that she was in a matespirit or auspistice or moirail’s embrace.

She closes her own arms around Roxy, wrapping them around her neck. The media she has studied indicates that this is a comforting and positive gesture, not a statement of intent to strangle, but Calliope makes sure her hands are light anyway. There is a strange jumping beneath her thumb, something moving in a regular rhythm beneath her skin.

“What’s that?”

“It’s my pulse. Heartbeat. Kind of a human thing? Like Doritos and pubic hair.”

“Oh.”

Pulse pounding. Heart racing. Her heartbeat like a—frightened rabbit? No. Like the fluttering of a hummingbird’s wings. Calliope has used all those metaphors. They are significantly better in person.

She presses herself closer to Roxy, lets the other girl stroke absently at the back of her skull, and the space beneath her feet changes, the void melting away to reveal light, finally, like a spotlight in a human ballet, warmer than the fluorescent brilliance she used to know, illuminating Roxy’s pale hair and brown skin and the deep blue mask around her eyes, light spreading across the distance. The darkness stretching above her becomes azure skies, and the emptiness beneath her feet becomes green grass, springy beneath her toes, color radiating out from where she and Roxy stand, racing outward to reform the entire world.

Roxy looks up, smiles, and steps away, catching Calliope’s hand in hers before she can protest.

“You know, thigh-high fifties spider chick said this would happen,” she says, swinging their joined hands a little, “Come on, Callie. You look beautiful. Time to save the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this]() prompt:
> 
> Calliope<3Roxy
> 
> "Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train"  
> \- Metric, "Help I'm Alive
> 
> in Bonus Round One of the 2013 Homestuck Shipping World Cup.


End file.
